


Dear Diary

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Cable and Deadpool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:26:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1633862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by azuraa</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Diary

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lurky McLurklurk

 

 

Dear Diary, Okay, this is bulls*%**. So Irene gave you to me for Christmas. What am I supposed to write in here? "Had a nice day? Killed some really interesting people? Took a trip to the museum before I robbed it?" (and Nate, `cause I know you're gonna read this sooner or later: That was an EXAMPLE, not me bragging. You don't need to make sure no one ripped off the Mona Lisa or something like that. (and anyhow, if I was gonna steal from one of those places it'd be gold and jewels, or a nice urn for my coffee table. What kind of urn goes good with Playboy magazines?))

I spent Christmas, really a big chunk of December, on Providence. At least Marvel had enough sense not to do the obvious stuff, like having us invaded by Atlanteans or anything. Nate could probably handle `em, but it gets old, yanno? 

I was hanging out. It was right after the whole `Nate dies after fighting the Silver Surfer and loses his powers and gets turned into six different versions of himself'--Oh. Wait. Sorry, no, those didn't all happen at once. 

Look, YOU try keeping track of the mess Marvel makes out of timelines with any character related to Scott Summers or Jean Grey. It doesn't snow on artificial islands. No trees, either. I was hoping we'd avoid the whole schmaltzy Christmas sentiment and stuff. It just ain't my style...

Guess I have something to write about, after all. Instead of "What I did over my Winter vacation", it'll be "Why you NEVER NEVER NEVER let Cable go with you Christmas shopping."

First of all, FutureBoy? The women in a fifty-shopper-strong line don't want to hear that the toy they're getting ready to battle to SOMEONE's death for, will be recalled in a month and basically the least popular toy in existence ANYWHERE by Valentine's Day next year. What happened to not screwing up the future and making the spacetime continuum go "kablooeey" like my shoes in a microwave oven?

Second of all, TWO WORDS, and they ain't "Merry Christmas.". The freaking teleport matrix doesn't care if you're referring to presents or passengers. You say "Bodyslide one" and it assumes you want us to do that freaky Jeff Goldblum "The Fly" meldything again, and I am sick of winding up naked, in public, when you're going to insist we "behave like gentleman" afterward!!!

Third: I don't care how much of a resemblance you bear to Santa Claus, I am not going to be playing the part of an elf. No, not even if you promise we can go to the North Pole later. I don't want to go Pole dancing...and I don't care how happy it'd make the Fighting Fifty's Deprived Offspring. You made your own bed, you get in it without help, Nate. 

Okaaay, stop looking at me like that. You know what I mean. Fourth: Did you forget, while making your strategic retreat, that only one of us can fly, and that you forgot some items on your list? -Personally, I'd rather `port into a nuclear explosion than face Irene and tell her you forgot her eggnog AND her present for good ol' Stellar John. That's not a suggestion either! 

Fifth: we have no forests on Providence. Therefore, we can't have a pet reindeer or Abominable Snowman. Even if you and half the girls on Providence go "awww' over Rudolph the RedNosed Wonder. No, not even if Rudolph probably is a mutant reindeer. Standards, dude. 

And that's something else, Dear Diary and not so dear Nate aka G.I. Jesus Christopher Dayspring Askani'son. 

No, I actually don't want Bea Arthur for Christmas. What do I want? Or who?

Ohhhh temptation. But Domino would kill me, if Irene didn't get there first. Yes, I can spell words longer than eight letters. I own a dictionary. Try it sometime. 

And after you do, look up the words "Transference." Look around at the people I know. Older types? Silver hair? Smart mouth? Ultraconfident? Sound like anyone currently on Providence? Seems logical, doesn't it?

Which, of course, is why it's completely not true. Helloo, this is me we're talking about. If things can go screwed up and confused, count on me to book the trip. Do I fantasize about the `unattainable'? Hell yeah. But when you wake up every day on Planet Earth, buddy boys, you don't make a daily breakfast of wishful thinking unless you want to starve. 

Me? Hired gun. I'm here for the money, and the chicks, baby. 

He knows the truth, anyway. If he was ever gonna bring up the subject, he would've done. The man isn't stupid. Anyway, the publishers are having too much fun making the readers guess which way I play. They get the cute oneliners and massage scenes, and they can tell the ultraconservative types that I'm actually not...you know... Teh G word...or B...

This also reminds me of the other fun part to Christmas on an island, with no stores anywhere. No crappy old songs that get into your brain so you spend all of "sweet God in Heaven give me selective deafness NOW Please" holiday season humming "Frosty the Snowman" until your---teammates? Friends? Whatevers? -dunk you in a vat of bioluminescent maple syrup.

So Nate and his crew plan out a winter Concert, multicultural. It'll be on the day after Christmas. Sort of a combo Christmas/Kwanzaa/Hanukkah/New Year's party. Only with better booze. I've heard `em practicing. Sounds like it's gonna be pretty good. I'll probably hang out on the roof or in the rafters. Maybe blackmail him into singing "Deck The Halls". Those photos of him at the Reseda Mall are reaaallly good for that. 

No, Nate, it won't help if you get someone to read my mind. I don't have the negatives. I gave them to Spider-Man and asked him to hide them for me. There might've been mention of evil You dopplegangers. 

But you know what, diary?

I'm a *%$ing liar.

 


End file.
